Cultivation Nerd

The Confusion Array was a simple tool commonly used in the past to make villagers forget something.

According to the books, it originated during a time when cultivators preferred to remain hidden from mortal society. Later, it was repurposed to keep pesky wild animals away from camps, though even that use became obsolete as better arrays were developed.

My array was of the same kind as the Confusion Arrays, though modified to suit my needs. I wasn't here to make anyone harm themselves or anything extreme. After all, the array couldn't convince its victims to do something they'd never willingly do.

I had taken some inspiration from the Owl Man, who once lived on the third floor of the outer library. The effects of my array were subtle but accumulative and would be agreeable to most people here. It wouldn't try to conflict with what the people were already going to do; it would just reinforce that idea instead.

However, the array would only last for about an hour.

Its purpose was to make people less likely to notice me. That wasn't too difficult since I had dressed to look like an unremarkable, low-level disciple.

With that in mind, I began exploring. Hoping for the best.

As I moved around, no one paid me any attention. It was hard to tell at first whether this was the effect of the array or simply because they didn't care.

As I ventured deeper, curious about where each door might lead, I eventually stepped into a room that resembled a classroom. It was filled with children no older than ten, their wide eyes following my entrance. At first, I instinctively tensed up, but their eyes quickly returned to their teacher as if they hadn't seen anything.

The classroom had a rundown, neglected feel—cracked walls and faded paint gave the room a shoddy appearance. Wooden desks were scratched and worn, some wobbling on uneven legs. The faint smell of dust lingered in the air, and the dim lighting only added to the sense of abandonment, as if the classroom had long since fallen into disrepair despite its young occupants.

I never thought this would actually work, but even the teacher didn't react as I entered the room. It seemed the array was a success.

This tactic would never work on even the weakest sects on the mainland. But the people here had a glaring flaw in their cultivation technique. By imbuing Qi into corpses, they left very little Qi in their own bodies, making them vulnerable to confusion arrays—something a typical cultivator could resist without effort.

The teacher, a woman in her early twenties, read aloud from a book while the students sat dazed as if lost in daydreams.

I didn't linger long. I turned and made my way toward the door in the center of the circular room. I had been methodically checking each entrance, starting from the right side.

As I stepped inside, I expected the hallway to be dark and long like the others. But unlike the right-side doors, which had torches on the right, and the left-side doors, which had torches on the left, this one had torches lining both sides.

Though it was too dark for the untrained eye, I noticed carvings on the walls as I walked down the hall.

Oddly enough, these carvings had nothing to do with the Silent Harvest Sect. Instead, they depicted people in compromising positions.

Had the Silent Harvest Sect made its base in some kind of pervert's secret dungeon? That's what all the clues were pointing to. The carvings matched the style I'd seen on the house earlier—ultra-realistic and disturbingly detailed.

Why would someone so talented dedicate their craft to something like this?

This chapter upload first at NovelUsb.Com

The hallway eventually widened, large enough to fit two cars side by side and tall enough to accommodate a truck. It stretched on much longer than the other hallways I had explored.

At the far end of the dimly lit corridor loomed a massive door, the kind that evoked the grandeur of a castle's great hall. The towering wooden structure looked expensive, but what drew the eye most were the striking paintings adorning its surface. On the left side of the door was the figure of a man, completely naked, his muscles defined with lifelike precision. On the right, an equally bare woman stood in a graceful, almost ethereal pose. Their fingertips extended toward one another, meeting precisely at the seam where the two doors joined.

Yep, this definitely had sex-dungeon vibes.

I placed my hands on the door and was surprised to find it was actually made of wood. The logistics of the Silent Harvest Sect bringing such a massive piece of wood here seemed improbable, especially since I had never seen any of them using storage rings. Yet, the wood remained in pristine condition, untouched by rot. Because if the wood had been here long ago, and it was regular wood, it would have rotted long ago.

It likely came from a tree capable of cultivation. Whoever the pervert who built this place was, they must have been passionate about it. Something like this would have cost a fortune.

I pushed the doors open. Despite their size, they weren't heavy, nor did they creak.

On the other side was a temple drenched in red—red carpets, a red roof, and red-painted walls. It was an overwhelming amount of red, though thankfully it didn't smell like blood, so it probably wasn't anything demonic.

However, that reassurance faded somewhat when I noticed the statue at the end of the room, elevated on three steps. The statue was as obscene as anything else in this place—an unknown goddess with four arms and sixteen teats. Unlike the other statues, this one was carved from gleaming white marble, adorned with gold embroidery and expensive jewels embedded in her eyes and where her nails would have been.

Alright, my guesses have changed—maybe not a sex dungeon, but definitely a sex cult.

At the feet of the statue sat an old man with a sloppy expression and a full head of white hair. Beside him was a corpse, not too decomposed, and it looked uncannily like the old man's twin.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Both the man and the corpse appeared to be meditating, perhaps cultivating. I was tempted to watch. Although I had a rough idea of how this sect cultivated, seeing it in action—especially from the Sect Leader, who was probably the most skilled at this technique—was something else.

But I had no intention of sticking around long enough to start a fight.

Between the old man and his lifeless twin lay a dark, ominous book. Even from a distance, it was clear the book had seen better days. Its cover was cracked and weathered, with frayed edges from age. Dirt clung stubbornly to the surface, so deeply embedded that no amount of cleaning could restore it. The grime and decay seemed to be part of the book itself, giving it an eerie, almost cursed aura.

As I walked into the room, the door behind me closed silently on its own. Not exactly the best security mechanism to prevent someone from sneaking in and stealing.

The only sound in the room was the soft echo of my footsteps. Despite trying to tread lightly, the silence amplified every step I took.

I approached the two figures and ascended the three steps to the platform where the statue stood. Without hesitation, I picked up the book. Neither the old man nor the corpse stirred.

"Could you kindly copy the book and leave the original behind?" the old man asked, his voice breaking the silence for the first time.

I was startled that he had somehow detected me.

Why hadn't he reacted earlier? Or did he only notice me when I picked up the book? That seemed unlikely, as opening the doors should have been more apparent to break the hold of the Confusion Array.

"Aren't you going to stop me?" I asked.

"No," the old man replied, shaking his head. He opened his eyes and stared straight at me. His eyes were gray and dull, as though covered by mist.

This old man was blind…

“Trying to act like a beast in front of someone who chose to show mercy is never a good idea,” the old man said. “It’s clear enough that you could have wiped out our entire Sect, but for some reason, you didn’t.”

“I’ll make a copy,” I replied, nodding. Pulling out a notebook and a thin brush, I sat down and opened the original book.

The pages were wrinkled, smudged, and challenging to read, but with my sharp eyesight, I could make out the faint remnants of what had once been written.

“Why did you spare us?” the old man asked. “By now, you must know what our Sect is involved in.”

“You see quite a bit for a blind man. Maybe more than many people I know,” I said, carefully copying the text into my notebook. My writing was neat, though I occasionally paused to decipher the nearly illegible handwriting.

My penmanship wasn’t great, but compared to this guy, it was practically flawless. His writing was almost like a doctor’s scrawl. Barely anything was written.

“I can see many things,” the old man mused, “but what resides in a person’s heart—that I cannot see.” He closed his eyes and returned to his meditative posture.

“Well, some things are better left unseen,” I responded. If he wanted to exchange some wise sayings, I had plenty in reserve.

He nodded thoughtfully. “You have such a strange cultivation method—your body feels as if it’s made of metal.”

“My method isn’t unique, honorable elder,” I said, showing respect. “Most cultivators are like me.”

“The world is a scarier place than I thought,” the old man remarked.

He had no idea how right he was. I was nothing special in terms of raw strength, but it was better that they didn’t learn that. Even the strongest hearts could falter if they genuinely understood their insignificance.

As I continued copying the book, my hands moved with a speed no ordinary human could match. But then I paused when a particular passage caught my attention.

Though I was primarily copying rather than reading, I wasn’t entirely mindless in the process.

The book wasn’t about cultivating corpses. In fact, it barely had anything to do with that. I had no idea how the founder of the Silent Harvest Sect ended up with this text.

Instead, the book spoke of Heaven’s Will, breaking free from fate and deceiving the heavens. It was quite something. I never expected to come across an immortal’s research notes in a place like this.

How did they get their hands on something like this? Was it pure chance?

Despite my surprise, I resumed my work as if nothing had happened. In just under an hour, I had copied the entire book.

As I neared the end, one name appeared: Jing Mu.

The Eternal Grave Immortal. I had read about him in the Song Clan library. He was as elusive as most immortals, shrouded in mystery. He lived during the era of the Blood Step Immortal.

Knowing this, I no longer wanted anything to do with the original text. I would take only a copy. After all, the Eternal Grave Immortal hadn’t earned his title for nothing.

The only confirmed information about him was that he was known for killing most of his own kind—immortals. Others may have killed more, but their stories never surfaced. Jing Mu held the known record.

All immortals were monsters in their own way, and I had no desire to uncover what this one had planned.

For all I knew, he might still be alive.

I hurriedly stood up. "Thank you for your understanding, elder. I'll leave your lands without causing any trouble and kill any monstrous beast I encounter along the way."

"Thank you, young hero," the elder said, bowing his head as I quickened my pace, eager to leave this place behind.

I stepped out of the temple-like room, leaving its perverse atmosphere behind as I entered the familiar circular chamber with the sixteen doors and their silent coffins. Without hesitation, I crossed the room and approached the dark stairway, beginning the long climb upward. The shadows seemed even darker this time, but I pressed on until I reached the entrance.

The stone slab remained sealed, as expected. I ran my fingers over the rough wall, searching for the mechanism. After a moment, I found it—a slight imperfection in the brick, barely noticeable unless you knew where to look. I gave it a firm push, and with a resounding click, the mechanism inside shifted. Slowly, the stone slab slid open, revealing the world outside once again.

The morning light bathed the garden, but I was not interested in the obscene art scattered around. Now that it was daytime, everything was more visible.

I took out my flying sword and bolted out of the place.

As the wind whipped against my face, my thoughts drifted toward the notebook in my hands and the immortals whose plans spanned millennia.

After all, the ghost of the immortal who had granted me my Sky Grade Technique had been plotting for millennia, all to catch a glimpse of this so-called Age of Immortals.

Whatever happened in this part of the world wasn't worth disrupting the balance that had naturally developed here. I wasn't going to intervene in these people's matters.

There was also the possibility that an immortal had once lived in these lands long ago, which made this place exceedingly dangerous for a mere Qi Gathering disciple like me.

I had already gained enough, and with so little control over the situation, it was wiser not to play with fire.

As I approached the village where I had left Speedy, I swooped down, summoning a gigantic translucent jade hand to pluck him up like a toy. Without a word, I flew off into the distance again.

Perhaps, in time, interesting legends would spring up about this event. One day, I might return to see what tales had been spun.

But for now, the research notes in my hands were far more intriguing...